


I Will Remember Massachusetts

by Kiwi234



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Dean says a naughty word a couple of times, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-31 00:17:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiwi234/pseuds/Kiwi234
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The brothers are brought to the small town of Saint Romain, Massachusetts on what seems like a normal case involving a guy who loves French history, a dog and a dragon. With the help of Cas and an object Dean had thought he'd never see again they try to save the closest thing Sam has to a friend. This is pretty much just an episode-like case fic, in which Bobby is alive, Cas is still an angel and Dean and Sam are almost at Season 1 levels of teasing, because why not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Will Remember Massachusetts

Fog drifted over the unnaturally calm ocean, gilded silver by the full moon. The gentle creaking of the boat's hull was louder than the waves that barely rocked it. Jack leant against the prow rail and stared back at the harbour. Saint Romain was a gorgeous city at night, although the slowly thickening fog blurred the lights. Out on the water he could almost forget his annoying neighbour. Tom had only been in France for a two week holiday but he would not relent with the French rants. And he'd been a bit strange since he got back.  
Jack closed his eyes and took several slow, deep breaths. When he opened them again all he could see was white. He spun around but the entire boat was shrouded. In all his years on the sea he'd never known fog to close in so quickly.  
Before he could come up with a rational explanation he was thrown off his feet as a massive wave struck the boat. The quiet broke into a din of pounding waves and snapping wood. Jack cried out for help and hooked an arm around the rail strut as the deck began to rock even more violently. Then came a deep roar. For a split second the absurd thought that he was hearing an earthquake ran through his mind. All thoughts were driven out by panic as a tremor passed through the deck underneath him. Again came the roar followed by shattering wood. Freezing water rushed over his legs as the deck beneath him collapsed. His screams were drowned out as the boat capsized and Jack knew he was dead when he plunged into the water. Still, he fought to get back to the surface among the sinking debris until something cold and alive wrapped around his ankle. He kicked madly but couldn't break the grip. Water flooded into his lungs as he tried to scream. The dark shape pulled him deeper and deeper under the waves. On the surface the fog lifted as quickly as it had descended, leaving the broken hull rocking gently without its captain.

"I'm just saying Sam, it's been ages since we hit up Vegas. Can't we find a job there?" Dean bit into his burger. "There has to be messed up stuff there," he said through his mouthful. Sam had learnt the many different dialects of Dean, including muffled.  
"Messed up, yes. It's Vegas. It's the Mecca of weird. Just not our weird." Sam turned his laptop round so Dean could see the screen and stabbed his salad. "I've found a case in Massachusetts." Sam sighed as Dean opened his mouth. "No Bee Gees. Please. You don't even like them."  
Dean winked. "There's a lot you don't know about me."  
"I know everything about you, Dean. Everything important." Sam pointed his lettuce-laden fork at the laptop. "Read."  
Dean pouted but did as he was told. By the time he'd gotten to the end of the article he'd finished his burger.  
He shrugged and span the laptop back towards Sam. "Since when is a boat capsizing our thing?" Dean smirked and squeezed more sauce onto his few last fries. "You just don't want to go to Vegas because of what happened last time. How is Becky? Have you spoken to your ex-wife recently?"  
"Very funny, Dean," Sam said without looking up from the screen. He was busy bringing up a new file.  
"The article said it was an accident, but get this." He turned the laptop around again. This time a police report was on the screen. Dean's smirk vanished as he scanned the report.  
"The water was supposedly calm, the one person on board hasn't been found and," Sam reached around and clicked on one of the photos, "there were tears in the hull. Tell me those don't look like claw marks."  
Dean shrugged. "Lots of normal, non-weird things have claws. Coulda been a shark."  
"Because sharks have claws."  
"They have teeth."  
"And eat boats?" Sam sighed again but a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "What's the point of watching Shark Week every year if you don't learn how to recognize attacks?"  
"Because it's awesome," Dean replied, putting on his offended voice. "It's an entire week, all about sharks." Despite his comment Dean leant back in his chair and his shoulders sagged. Sam knew he had won.  
"I'll go pay, meet you in the car."  
Dean stood quickly. "I've got it, don't worry."  
Sam stood as well. "We don't have time for you to flirt with the waitress."  
"But she-"  
"Nope."  
"But I haven't-"  
"Nope."  
Sam was already moving towards the counter. Dean trailed behind him.  
"It's been ages-"  
Sam stopped and turned to face his brother. He pushed the laptop into Dean's arms. "Go and wait in the car."  
Dean frowned but managed to get out a "Fine". He grumbled as he walked off. Sam thought he heard "little brother" and "bossy" among the mumbled words. Although he didn't feel bad in the slightest for giving Dean an order, Massachusetts was several hours away and he didn't want a tense drive. Dean turned his stereo up when he was annoyed. He scanned the counter as the waitress rang up the bill and spotted a solution.

Sam could hear Dean singing before he even worked out that it was ‘Dazed and Confused’ playing.  
"Took your time," Dean said as Sam opened the door. "You better not have been getting the waitress' number. Unless you planned to pass it on."  
Sam chuckled as Dean grinned widely and jerked his eyebrows up and down.  
"Like you need my help. I was getting dessert."  
He dropped the paper bag in Dean's lap. His brother demolished the slice of pie too single-mindedly to notice Sam smiling. A very short time later the Impala roared into life and Dean swung out of the diner car park onto the highway.

 

"Hey Sammy."  
"We're working, Dean. FBI agents don't make jokes."  
"Aw, come on. This is a good one."  
Sam sighed and set about hunting through the small, garishly-lit room for a scalpel. "I doubt that." When he returned to the bench, scalpel in hand, and saw the disappointment on Dean's face he forced a smile.  
"Let's hear it then."  
Dean broke into a grin. "I think we've bitten off more than we can chew."  
Sam rolled his eyes. "Like I said before, these aren't bite wounds." He ignored Dean's resumed disappointment.  
"Now put the arm down." Sam peered at the dismembered limb. "If that's what it is. We don't have long before they take the body away for the autopsy."  
Dean sighed and let the arm drop with a thud onto the steel bench. "Sorry if I'm trying to have some fun. I wasn't expecting a dissection."  
Sam laughed sharply. "It's hardly a dissection. Most of the job's been done already." He pulled over the magnifying glass stand and examined a particular wound. "We're quite fortunate, actually. Given it was lost at sea we were lucky to get the body this fresh."  
"Oh yeah, so lucky,” Dean said. “He's practically still alive. You can barely notice that the guy spent a day in the ocean."  
Dean groaned when Sam ignored him again. "You know what, you've got this under control. I'll go have a chat with the officers. We didn't get a chance when we arrived. You were too excited by the news that they'd found the body."  
Sam finally responded, although he didn't look up. "Good idea, you do that." Dean waited for a moment but Sam's focus remained on the still slightly sodden corpse. He didn't look back and catch Sam's half grin as he left.

 

"I've told you all I know, Agent..?"  
"Paice." Dean froze as the officer's brow furrowed and recognition flickered briefly across her face. The officer dismissed the sense of familiarity with a slight shake of her head and continued speaking.  
“We found the boat capsized and floating in the harbour early this morning. Witnesses claim to have seen Jack setting out yesterday evening, so the accident must have occurred sometime during the night.” Dean bit back a comment at the word ‘accident’. Instead he grinned and asked what the victim’s surname was.  
The officer retrieved a sheet of paper from her cluttered desk. “Finch. Jack Finch.”  
“So close,” Dean said with a sad shake of his head. The officer sighed.  
“So close to what?”  
“His name’s Jack,” Dean replied, eyebrows raised and slight smile on the face as he waited for the officer to get the joke. “And he was a captain. Captain Jack?”  
“And?”  
Dean’s smile sank into a frown. “Never mind.”  
“Am I missing something?”  
“Is my partner making pop culture references again?” Sam asked as he appeared around the corner of the corridor to the morgue. Once he stood next to Dean he leant down and whispered, “What was it this time?”  
“Our victim’s a captain. His name’s Jack,” Dean answered, a smile back on his face although his reluctance to meet Sam’s eyes showed that he was waiting for the typical reprobation from his brother. His smile broadened into a grin as Sam looked over at the officer.  
“Have you actually never seen a Pirates of the Caribbean movie?” Sam asked. The officer exhaled heavily and rolled her eyes.  
“Is there anything else I can help you with?”  
“I think we’re done,” Dean said and straightened his shoulders. “Let us know if there are any developments.” Sam handed the officer his card before following his brother out into the car park.  
“Any idea what we’re dealing with?” Sam asked as he folded his arms on the roof of the Impala. Dean paused with the key in the door.  
“Nothing that makes sense. The fuzz were pretty useless.”  
Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “The fuzz?” He exhaled sharply as he thought of an answer to his own question. “That last motel had BBC America, didn’t it?”  
Dean grinned and opened his door. “I find British cop shows hilarious, okay?” Sam was still watching him so Dean paused again. “Come on, even you enjoyed Hot Fuzz.”  
Sam refused to make such an admission, but finally looked away and climbed into the passenger seat.  
“Did you find anything interesting playing Operation with ol’ Cap’n Jack?” Dean asked as he dropped into the driver’s seat. Sam shook his head.  
“I’m pretty sure I was right about the wounds not being bites. I think whatever killed him had claws, but beyond that I’m stumped.”  
“Didn’t the coroner say they thought the cause of death was drowning?” Sam nodded in response to Dean’s question. “Maybe it’s mermaids, then,” Dean continued excitedly.  
“First of all I’ve never heard of mermaids existing. Secondly, I’ve never heard of them having claws. And third,” Sam raised his voice as the engine began to rumble, “you should not be excited about mermaids. None of the stories about them end well for guys like you. I know you’ve seen On Stranger Tides.”  
Dean grinned again. “Hell yeah. Those fish-chicks were hot.”  
Sam ran one hand through his hair and clenched the other - resting on his knee - into a fist. “Can we just go check out the wreckage? We are working a case.”  
Dean responded by turning up the radio and planting his foot.

 

They didn’t make it to the harbour to inspect the wreckage. Instead Sam returned his phone to his jacket pocket and directed Dean to a quiet, innocent-looking suburban street. Only one police car and an ambulance were parked outside their destination but already the neighbours were milling in the street. The crowd parted slowly before the fender of the Chevy.  
The same officer Dean had spoken to less than an hour ago was waiting for them in the front hallway of the house.  
“What’ve we got, Officer?”  
The cop gave a half smile and exhaled sharply. “Just, Kate.” Neither Dean nor Sam asked what had changed, but for the first time they both noticed how young she was. Dean almost laughed as the thought, she’s too young to deal with this shit, ran through his mind. He barely noticed as Sam began asking questions and gently tugged him towards the stairs up which the officer was leading them. So it wasn’t until they were standing in the master bedroom staring down at a somehow drowned corpse splayed across the bed that Dean noticed wetness soaking through the soles of his replacement-needing shoes.  
“He drowned, in his sleep?” Sam’s question fully brought Dean back to reality.  
Kate shrugged and slipped her cap off her head. “Looks that way. We won’t know the cause of death until the autopsy, but that’s the coroner’s first guess.”  
“How?” Dean asked. He grimaced as he squatted to peer at the corpse’s face. The skin was a pale grey and still glistening. After another shrug from Kate, Dean took a tentative sniff.  
“Huh.”  
“What?”  
“Salt.”  
Sam frowned. “He drowned in salt water?”  
“Smells that way,” Dean said, straightening up again. “Are we thinking he drowned in the ocean and someone, for some reason, decided to get him back home to bed?”  
Kate shook her head. “That was our first thought, but the coroner reckons Dave, the victim, died less than a half hour before he was found here, and it doesn’t explain the amount of water through the house. This room especially looks like it’s been flooded.”  
Dean glanced around and had to concede that the officer was right. Every surface was still gleaming wet. The shade of a standing lamp dripped gently. Dean walked over to the shelf and took down a book from the top. Flipping it open, he couldn’t find a single page still readable. Like the body, the sharp tang of salt clung to the book.  
A call issued from a room down the hall, after which Kate excused herself and left.  
“What do you think happened?” Sam asked as Dean joined him back by the corpse. His brother shook his head.  
“I dunno man, but nothing good. This is definitely our division.”  
Sam sighed. “How much BBC TV did you watch, Lestrade?”  
Dean grinned and slapped him on the shoulder as he left the room. “Not enough.” He paused in the doorway and turned back to face Sam. “Hold up, how’d you get that reference?”  
This time Sam grinned. “I didn’t live under a rock while you were in Purgatory. You remember how much I enjoyed the stories as a kid.”  
“I remember you nagging me to read them to you. I thought you just liked them ‘cause they distracted you from worrying about Dad.”  
Sam’s grin faded and he gently nudged Dean forward into the hallway. “Maybe I just liked hearing you try to pronounce Victorian English.”  
“You just liked hearing me say ‘ejaculate’.”  
Sam rolled his eyes and kept nudging Dean, toward the stairs. “Not as much as you enjoyed saying it. You always were immature like that.”  
Dean planted his feet so that Sam couldn’t move him before twisting around with a smirk on his face. “’Were’?”  
“Right yeah, I forgot that you’re still ten years old.”  
“Shut up,” Dean replied as he finally started down the stairs – slowly to piss Sam off – but nothing in his voice suggested he meant it.  
Another officer was waiting for them by the front door. “There’s someone you might want to talk to outside.” He pointed him out. “Black guy under the tree.” Dean thanked him before Sam could comment and led the way over to the massive oak tree casting a shadow over half of the lawn.  
“Could use a mow,” Dean said as they stepped out onto the long, unkempt grass.  
“That’s an understatement,” Sam replied. “A few galleons of weed-killer wouldn’t hurt, either.”  
“Sorta irrelevant now. Although I doubt the neighbours approve. Even one messy lawn can lower the property value of every house on the street.”  
Sam glanced at Dean with one eyebrow raised. “Real estate agent now, are we?”  
Dean shrugged. “I know some stuff.”  
Sam just shook his head and approached the short, cardigan-wearing man running one hand constantly over his almost-bald scalp and gently tapping his khaki-pants-clad thigh with the other.  
“Agents Paice and Russell,” Dean said, he and Sam both flashing their badges. The man just nodded, short rapid jerks of his head.  
“No need to be nervous,” Sam said gently. “We just want to ask a few questions.”  
“I’m not nervous,” the man replied quickly. “I’m upset.”  
Sam gave one of his I-understand-how-you’re-feeling smiles. “You’re the one who found Mr. Simmons?”  
The man nodded again. “I wanted to make sure he was okay, I’d just had a cop tell me about what happened to Jack,” he quickly explained, “but he didn’t answer the door. He gave me a spare key to look after his cats once so I went in to check on him, and…”  
“It’s fine, take your time,” Sam said as the man paused. “What’s your name?”  
“Eugene,” came the reply, barely steadier than the man’s hands.  
“Would you be more comfortable talking to us somewhere else? If you’d prefer we can do this at your place.”  
Eugene nodded and smiled in evident relief before leading them across the lawn. Dean nudged Sam.  
“That’s what she said.”  
“Grow up, Dean.”  
“You don’t mean that.”  
Sam’s hair hid the smile on his face, but Dean knew it was there. “You understand me so well, Dean.” This time Sam nudged Dean. “Bet that’s not what she said.”  
Dean winked. “If there’s one thing I understand, Sammy – “  
“- please say monsters. You know how I feel about you over-sharing.”  
Dean chuckled. “Yeah, those too.”

 

Eugene relaxed the moment he led them through his front door, and by the time they were in his sitting room his nervous hands were still. The room itself was sparsely furnished but what it did contain was neat and a large bay window let in plenty of late-morning sun. Dean sank onto a leather couch and Sam took a spot next to him. Eugene sat in an armchair opposite them but got to his feet a second later.  
“Can I get you anything to drink?”  
“I wouldn’t turn down a beer,” Dean answered, earning him a glare from Sam, who leant over and whispered in his ear.  
“You remember what happened last time you accepted a beer from someone you were interviewing?”  
Dean scowled, but before he could retract his request Eugene started apologizing.  
“I’m afraid I can’t offer you anything alcoholic, agent. I don’t drink.”  
“I’m alright, then,” Dean said with a clear tone of disappointment.  
“I’ll have whatever you’re having, thanks,” Sam quickly said before gently hitting Dean on the arm. “No need to be so ungrateful. Besides, it’s like 11am.”  
“It’s 5 o’clock somewhere.”  
“It’s also four in the morning somewhere, that’s a stupid justification.”  
Dean pouted. “You’re a…stupid, justification…”  
“Oh, ouch.”  
Their bickering was interrupted when Eugene returned bearing a tray with three glasses.  
“I know you said you didn’t want anything,” Eugene said as he handed Dean a glass, “but I thought you might have just been being polite.”  
Sam tried to contain his laughter as Dean took a cautious sniff of the red liquid.  
“What is it?”  
“Cranberry juice.”  
“Oh, excellent,” Sam said and accepted his glass with a smile.  
“Bit of a girly drink,” Dean whispered to Sam.  
“Just try it, you might like it,” Sam shot back. They both put on smiles as they noticed Eugene watching them from his armchair, a puzzled look on his face.  
Dean relented and took a sip. “It’s okay, I guess,” he said, smiling at Eugene again, before putting his glass down on the wooden coffee table. By the time they’d asked everything they needed to, learning absolutely nothing new, Dean’s glass was empty. Both he and Sam had by that point examined the room as best they could from their vantage point but aside from a record player and a large brick fireplace there was little to attract their attention.  
Sam was about to stand when a large, furry shape leapt onto his lap. Dean was on his feet and behind the couch faster than if he’d spotted a one night stand he hadn’t called back.  
“Rex, down boy.”  
The German shepherd obeyed, but stayed on the floor by Sam’s feet, tongue hanging out of its mouth and tail thumping the floor.  
“Aren’t you gorgeous,” Sam said in a voice so unlike his normal one that Dean’s restraint failed him and he burst into laughter. Sam ignored the chuckling of his older brother and with one hand ruffled the dog’s ears while stroking his back with the other. He didn’t stop petting him until they were on the front step.  
“You’re sure there’s nothing else you can think of that might help us?” Dean asked while Sam crouched down and kept talking to the dog. He couldn’t understand the appeal, especially when he noticed the loose hairs clinging to his suit, but he did understand the grin on Sam’s face.  
“Not really.”  
“That doesn’t sound very sure.”  
“Well,” Eugene folded his arms and leant on the doorframe. “Tom has been acting kinda weird, ever since he got back from France.”  
“Tom?”  
Eugene nodded toward a house across the street. “Tom Hayes, one of our neighbours.”  
“Weird how?” Dean asked as Sam allowed Rex to lead him on to the lawn.  
“He has never really gotten along with any of us, especially Jack and Dave, but the past couple of days he’s been moody. Getting angry for no reason.”  
Dean tried to ignore the sound of his brother playing fetch behind him. "Has he been violent?"  
Eugene shook his head. “No, just angry. And he’s been speaking French a lot.”  
“French?”  
“Yeah, he went on some research trip to France for a couple of weeks. He’s always known the language well – he’s studied French history for years – but his accent was atrocious. Apparently two weeks was enough to fix that. I’ll be in the middle of a conversation with him and he’ll switch language and start speaking like a native Frenchman.”  
“That’s not odd at all,” Dean said in a way which implied he found it very odd indeed. “I think we should go and have a little chat with Mr. Hayes. Sam,” he said, turning around to where his brother was crouching on the grass rubbing Rex’s stomach. “I mean, ah, Agent Russell. Cut that out at once, we’re on the job. We need to go across the street.”  
“I doubt you’ll find Tom at home,” Eugene said as Sam reluctantly joined them on the doorstep, Rex still by his feet. “He’s been working long hours since he got back from his trip.”  
“Where does he work?” Sam asked, voice falling back into his formal tone although his quick glances down at the dog escaped neither Dean nor Eugene’s notice.  
“At the local museum.”  
“Thanks for the help, Eugene,” Dean had already stepped down onto the path across the lawn. “If you think of anything else, give us a call,” he said with a nod to Sam, who handed Eugene a business card.  
“Of course. I’m always happy to assist the authorities. Come on, Rex.” With one last lick of Sam’s hand, his front paws on his knees in order to reach, the dog followed his owner inside.  
As the two of them walked down the drive Dean hit Sam across the back of the head, gently so as not to hurt him but firm enough to convey his annoyance.  
“What was that for?” Sam asked indignantly.  
“For acting like an idiot. We’re meant to be agents, man.”  
“Agents are people too, Dean. Eugene didn’t seem to mind me playing with his dog.”  
“I don’t care that you were friendly to his pet – it’s nice seeing you happy – but frolicking on the grass – “  
Sam gave one of the most genuine laughs Dean had heard in a long time. “Frolicking? I was playing with a dog, not skipping and blowing bubbles.”  
“That’s not the point,” Dean replied. The two of them had reached the Impala, over the roof of which he pointed at Sam. “And if you ever skip and or blow bubbles I will ditch your ass so fast...”  
Sam rolled his eyes. “When have I ever played with bubbles?”  
Dean shrugged and swung his door open. He was about to start the car when he snapped his fingers and pointed one at Sam again. “That birthday, I think you’d turned nine. I found you playing with a sinkful of bubbles.”  
“That’s because you gave me detergent as a present and told me ‘to make my own fun’”, Sam retorted.  
Dean paused, drumming the wheel with the fingers of one hand while the other still held the key in the ignition. After a few seconds he laughed once. “Oh yeah, that’s right. My bad,” he said with a shrug and a half-smile.  
“Just drive, man.”

 

“I’m sure Eugene has told you more than I know,” Hayes said irritably. He had only reluctantly allowed them into his office, around which he started pacing, picking at a large patches of dry skin on his forearms. “You’re wasting all of our time.”  
“We’ll decide that for ourselves,” Sam answered, every semblance of professionalism returned. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable sitting, Mr. Hayes?”  
“No I would not!” The aggressive reply sounded unnatural coming from the lanky, bespectacled, neat-shirted man. He sighed heavily and waved at the two chairs in front of his desk.  
“Feel free to sit yourselves, if you’d like.”  
“We’re good, thanks,” Sam said. Dean just nodded and wandered over to the desk.  
“So you’ve been out of the country recently?”  
“Yes,” Hayes answered slowly, distracted. His brow creased as Dean began picking up and turning over various items on the desk. When he reached for the object which had initially caught his attention, what looked like a large, black claw, Hayes moved forward and snatched it away. “Some of these objects are invaluable, agent. I would rather you did not play with them.”  
Dean smiled and stepped away from the desk, but he deliberately met Sam’s eyes.  
Sam slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “Carry on, Paice. I just need to check an email,” he said and leant against a bookshelf next to the desk, phone held in front of him.  
Hayes’ frowned again but returned the object to his desk and finally settled into the leather chair behind it.  
“What were you doing in France, Tom?” Dean asked.  
“Visiting Rouen.” His annoyance faded slightly when Dean pushed him for elaboration. He launched into the explanation with a level of alacrity equal to his previous aggression. “It’s a town in Normandy, on the Seine. It was the home of the saint after whom this town is named. I’ve wanted to visit for a long time, and the museum finally agreed to fund a trip when they heard a hidden chamber had been discovered in the cathedral. On the condition that I brought a relic back, of course.”  
“And did you?”  
The glance down at his desk was quick and almost definitely unconscious, but it didn’t escape the notice of the brothers. “No, sadly. The townspeople are very protective of their heritage.”  
“How have you been feeling since you came back?” Dean asked. Hayes let out a soft growl at the question.  
“What has Eugene been telling you?”  
“Just answer the question,” Dean responded, but Hayes growled again.  
“That jumped-up little man has been bad-mouthing me, hasn’t he? Just because I called noise control after that mongrel of his would not shut up.” Hayes got back to his feet and resumed pacing.  
What followed neither Dean nor Sam could interpret, but it was clearly an impassioned rant in what sounded to them like flawless French. Suddenly both the pacing and the tirade stopped.  
“Leave.”  
“I’m not sure that we’re done questioning – “  
“Leave!”  
Dean looked to Sam, who gave an almost imperceptible nod. “Let us know if you think of anything that might help our investigation.” Hayes didn’t reply to Dean, or acknowledge the card Sam put on his desk.  
“What do we do now?”  
“What we do every week. Find a motel, set up camp and do some research.”

 

“Can you please just once pick a motel with a decent shower,” Dean said a minute after they’d unlocked their room. After dibbing a bed and chucking his stuff on it the first thing he did was check the place out, which always included testing the water pressure.  
“If you don’t like it we can find another one,” Sam replied, although both of them knew he didn’t mean it. “Look, you call Bobby. I’ve sent him the picture of whatever that things was Hayes had, so he might have an idea of what we’re dealing with by now. I’ll go on a supply run.”  
Dean pouted. “Why do I have to do the work?”  
“It’s not work, it’s calling Bobby,” Sam replied, ignoring Dean’s attempts to illicit pity. “You can do the supply run if you promise to buy more than just beer and microwave meals.”  
“Of course I will.”  
“Pie doesn’t count as more.”  
“Come onnnn man,” Dean said, “pies have fruit in ‘em.”  
Sam just shook his head and grabbed the keys. “Call Bobby. Tell him I say hi.”  
“I’ll tell him you’re being a dick.”  
“I’m sure he’ll both believe and care,” Sam replied, already out the door.  
“I thought people were supposed to respect their elders,” Dean muttered to himself as searched his pockets for the right phone.

 

“I might have an idea,” Bobby said as soon as he answered.  
“Hello to you too.”  
“Yeah, yeah. Hey Dean. Fill me in.” Dean obliged and a few minutes later a soft “Balls” came from Bobby’s end.  
“It sounds like what I thought, but I’ve never heard of one outside Europe.”  
Dean sighed and sank down onto the bed. That was never a good sign. “What do ya reckon?”  
“I think you’re dealing with a gargoyle.”  
“Like, those weird looking bat things that spout water?”  
“Those weird looking bat things are based on some pretty serious lore. Gargoyles are French, and they’re more like dragons than bats.”  
Dean groaned. “Dragons? Again?”  
“I certainly hope not. What you guys killed last time was still part human, so you’d best hope this one is too. It’s the only thing I can find that fits, though. Gargoyles would terrorize boats and flood the land.”  
Dean nodded, forgetting that Bobby couldn’t see him. “That fits with what we’ve found. You’re sure these things are French?”  
“Pretty sure. The lore I have talks about something called La Gargouille, which gave its name to the spout and then got garbled into gargoyle by the English.”  
“How is there one here, and how do we kill it?”  
“You need to find it first.”  
“I think we have already. We’ve got a guy who’s just been to France, and he has developed some weird behaviour since he got back.”  
“Sounds like your man, uh dragon, thing, then.” Bobby’s sigh was followed by a quiet sloshing and a gulp. “I’ll keep working, see if I can track down any more info that might help you boys. For now just try to stop it killing again. Oh and Dean, make sure you wear your amulet. I still haven’t exactly worked out its provenance, but it supposedly protects against drowning. It used to belong to a saint, according to the guy I got it from. A French guy, actually. It’s because of him that I know anything at all about gargoyles.”  
“The amulet?” Dean asked, heart sinking at the word. He closed his eyes. Don’t be that one, don’t be that one…  
“The one I gave Sam to give to your dad, years and years ago. Made him happier than a pig in mud knowing you always wore it.”  
“Yeah, about that Bobby.” He had to fight to get the confession out past the lump in his throat. Dean closed his eyes and exhaled softly as the barrage began. He could have not listened. He could have tried to cut in. Instead he waited patiently for Bobby to finish his admonishment, even though the words hurt more than anything his father had been able to come up with. They hurt because he knew, deeper and more profoundly than with anything John had said, that he deserved them. He could have argued against Bobby's "you gigantic, insensitive moron", but the only reason he had was that he'd been punishing Sam and even he knew how childish and petty that was.  
"You find that goddamn amulet and you apologise to your brother, ya hear? No wonder the poor kid has so many issues."  
"Yes Bobby." The reply took longer than Dean expected, and was gentler than he could have hoped.  
"Idjit", then the click of the phone hanging up. Only Bobby could insult softly enough that Dean knew, no matter how angry he was then, that he would still answer the phone again, and would with the tone of concern and sympathy Dean had never heard from his father guide him through whatever fresh mess he was in.  
Dean threw his phone behind him on the bed and cradled his head in his hands. Only one option that his brain came up with seemed to offer any chance of success.  
Screw it. He stood and started pacing, trying to think how to word it. It seemed so petty, but he would care enough to listen, to answer. He had to.  
"Hello Dean."  
He'd smiled at the familiar rush of wind, the flapping trench coat. But he didn't turn around until he heard that voice. When he did his smile faded. As always, Cas misinterpreted Dean's awe.  
"Have I done something wrong again?" Cas asked. "I will never get the hang of this. Would you like apology pie, for whatever it is I ought to be remorseful about?"  
Dean laughed and shook his head. "It's not something you've done." Cas tilted his head as he did whenever he was thinking, but reminded Dean of that puppy Sam found when he was six and begged John to keep.  
"Have you found another prophet? Am I soon to do something bad?" Cas gently patted his own torso. "I don't feel bad, currently."  
This time Dean rolled his eyes, but even Cas noticed the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.  
"Dean, I would appreciate it if you could, how you put it, cut to the chaste."  
"Chase, Cas. Cut to the chase."  
Cas' brow furrowed. "I am not the one being indirect. Chase is indeed more logical, however. I suspected I had the expression wrong. You and Sam tend to avoid harming virgins."  
Dean dragged a hand over his face and exhaled slowly. "Cutting to the chase, then. I need you to find my amulet. The one you borrowed to play a game of Hot or Cold with your Dad."  
Cas' eyes narrowed briefly before he shook his head. "Not even going to try to understand that one." He raised his hands and half smiled, as if he'd learnt apologetic gestures from a ten year-old. "I would rather not take it off its current owner."  
"But you know who has it?" Dean took a step forward as he spoke. Not for the first time he had to break eye contact. He doubted he’d ever get used to speaking to an actual angel.  
Cas did his head tilt again and searched Dean's face. "If this is a test, I am neither sure of what you are endeavouring to discover nor how to perform satisfactorily."  
"Since when did you care about satisfactory performance?" Even as he spoke Dean glanced away, at the tacky horse-covered wall paper. He cleared his throat and looked back. He rolled his eyes when he saw Cas' faint grin. So that joke he gets?  
"Just answer the question, Cas," Dean said. "Who has my amulet?"  
"Sam."  
"Out getting supplies, he won't be back for another ten minutes."  
This time it was Cas' turn to roll his eyes. "You misunderstand me. Sam has your amulet."  
Dean's curiosity drove him another step forward. "Sam? Why? How?"  
Cas sighed heavily. "You humans, always with the questions. Yes, Sam. I believe he took it out of the bin in which you discarded it. As for why, I apologize. The intricacies of human behaviour continue to sometimes escape me. I suggest you ask your brother. He might be able to satisfy you more fully."  
Cas turned away, before looking back at Dean over his shoulder. "Is that all?"  
Dean nodded, still caught up in thoughts of Sam and the amulet. "No, wait."  
Cas' shoulders drooped, but when the angel turned around Dean could have sworn he was forcing back a smile.  
Despite that, Dean's words caught in his throat. He's your friend, this shouldn't be so goddamned hard.  
His fists clenched and his eyes fell briefly to the hideous maroon carpet. "How are you?"  
Cas paused as if trying to judge the sincerity of Dean's question. "I am comparatively mentally sound and my life is not in immediate danger."  
"So, good, then?" Dean breathed away his embarrassment and looked up again. Had Cas always been standing that close?  
"I like to consider myself as not evil. I have made mistakes, but I have paid my reparations."  
"You know what I meant."  
Cas gave an obviously conscious, toothy smile. "I did. I was attempting humour."  
Dean winked. "Keep working on it." Cas' smile disappeared and Dean quickly added, "It was a good effort though."  
"You didn't laugh."  
"I still found it amusing."  
Cas looked about to reply but paused. "Your ten minute estimate was off."  
A few moments later Dean heard what Cas had heard before him. Outside the rumble of the Impala grew louder and soon stopped outside their room.  
Neither Dean nor Cas spoke as the engine was shut off, the door opened and closed and the rustle of shopping bags approached.  
"Cas?" Sam put the supplies down and moved next to Dean. "What's happened?"  
"Dean and I are engaging in pleasant small talk."  
Sam glanced at Dean with quizzically raised eyebrows. Dean ignored him and turned to the table to get a beer.  
"I will leave you to it." Before Dean could look back Cas was gone.  
"What was that about?" Sam asked as Dean passed him the beer and got himself another. "And don't tell me small talk. Angels don't do pleasantries."  
Dean smiled, furthering Sam's confusion. His angel did. “Nothing important.”  
“Right,” Sam said sceptically. He however dropped the subject. “What did Bobby say?” he asked as he took his jacket off and threw it over a chair.  
Dean’s reply took a few seconds, distracted as he was by the greyish-green garment Sam had just removed. “He reckons we’ve got a gargoyle,” he said finally, looking back at Sam and hoping he hadn’t noticed.  
Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “A gargoyle? I didn’t realize they actually existed.”  
“Last time you said that was about that Lamia, and that most definitely did exist. I damn near burned my face off killing it.”  
Sam sighed and put his beer down. “I’ll head over to reception then and get the password for the wi-fi. We have work to do.”  
“Yeah, you do that,” Dean agreed, slightly too eagerly. Sam only paused for a second before shaking his head and leaving.  
Dean waited two heartbeats before picking up Sam’s jacket, knowing it would be in there. He immediately found the inside pocket, unzipped it and pulled out the contents. A doll-sized blue shoe, two scraps of paper that looked to be from the labels of a bottle of kitchen detergent and a can of shaving cream, and the folded up instructions for a waffle iron. He smiled and took a few moments turning each item over. To anyone else they were scraps, rubbish. Only Sam would keep a Barbie’s shoe just because it had been a present from his brother. Dean eventually forced himself to put them back. The last item however he couldn’t let go of. Not again.  
“What are you doing, Dean?”  
He closed his eyes and exhaled once before facing his brother. “We need it, for the case.”  
“So you thought you’d go through my stuff and take it?” Sam asked. There was no anger in his voice, yet, but Dean struggled to meet his eye.  
“I wanted to check you had it before I brought it up,” he answered, grimacing at the weakness of his explanation.  
“What made you think I had it in the first place?”  
“Cas told me.”  
Sam laughed; a short, sharp, humourless sound. “I knew he didn’t visit just to chat.” He shook his head and laughed again. “You should have just asked me.”  
“I know. But when have I ever done what I should?” Dean gave a tentative half-smile, which could have turned into a grin when Sam responded with a half-smile of his own.  
“Did you just admit you’ve made mistakes?”  
“I know I mess some things up. I made a mistake getting rid of this.” Dean stepped forward and met his brother’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Sammy.”  
Sam just smiled and wrapped his arms around Dean’s shoulders.  
“Man, you reek of dog, get off,” Dean said, muffled by Sam’s collarbone against his neck. When his brother obeyed and pulled away though Dean tightened his grip and Sam fell back in to the hug. “I was just joking, dude. You’ve smelt far worse.” At that Sam stepped back again, and this time Dean let him. Both of them were grinning though.  
“Does this mean you’ve forgiven me?”  
Dean’s grin faded at Sam’s question. “You don’t need me to forgive you. I’m your big brother, it’s sort of granted that I’ll always forgive you.” As Sam’s eyes fell to the floor Dean clasped his shoulder. "You know me,” Dean grinned again and took back his hand, “always thinking short-term.” His humour, forced as it was, didn’t last long. “I was angry and I made a stupid decision. I should be the one asking for forgiveness.”  
“You’re my big brother, it’s sort of granted that I’ll always forgive you," Sam replied with a soft chuckle. "Besides, I deserved it for letting you down.”  
Dean’s eyes closed and his hands clenched into fists, one of them wrapped around the small piece of metal. “Don’t say that, ever." He tried to say more. His gut churned and he could feel what he wanted to say, but the words were a whirlwind in his mind.  
“You two are very emotional creatures.”  
“Damnit, Cas,” Dean said, turning to face the figure standing by the door. “Ever heard of a little thing called privacy?”  
“I can see your soul, Dean. You’re upset that I heard you bare it to your brother?”  
“Back for more small talk?” Sam asked as he retrieved his laptop and settled down at the table with it and his beer. He didn’t turn his attention to the screen until Dean had slipped the amulet over his head. Neither of them commented on it further, but Dean’s fingers and Sam’s eyes kept finding it.  
“I am here to help you with your hunt, if you will accept my assistance.”  
“How come you’re volunteering?” Dean asked, trying not to sound too suspicious. He didn’t want to offend Cas, but it struck him as odd that the angel would want to help them on a random hunt without being asked.  
“I have some history with the monster you are hunting,” Cas answered. “I believe my knowledge will be more useful to you than anything you could find yourselves.”  
“I dunno, give Sam a computer, a decent internet connection and a couple of hours and he can find pretty much anything,” Dean said, not trying to hide the pride which crept into his voice. The slight weight of the amulet around his neck felt like a massive weight off his shoulders; it was like there had been a stain on his connection to his brother that had been wiped off. He didn’t care if Sam knew he was proud of him, he wanted him to know.  
“Unless you have access to detailed seventh century French history, I would be surprised.”  
“Gargoyle,” Sam said from the table. “Evolved from La Gargouille, a French legend that sprang up around the name of Saint Romanus of Rouen. Said to have been the typical dragon with batlike wings, a long neck and the ability to breathe fire. There are multiple versions of the story where Romanus either captured it or subdued it with a crucifix, but in all of them the monster was burned except for its head and neck. The head was then mounted on the walls of the newly built church to scare off evil spirits.”  
Cas’ brow furrowed. “How did you find that information?”  
Sam smirked and turned his laptop around so that the other two could see it. “Wikipedia.”  
Dean grinned too, until he noticed Cas’ shoulders sag. He gently pat the angel on the back. “That’s just the internet, for you. I’m sure you’ll still be able to help us.”  
“As long as this monster is stopped, it is not important where the two of you get your information.” Cas sat on the edge of one of the beds, a few feet from where Sam sat at the table. Dean pulled out a second chair and sat down opposite his brother.  
“I can clarify for you the significance of your amulet if you would like,” Cas said, “Unless this Wikipedia has that information.”  
Sam and Dean exchanged a brief glance. “Go on, then,” Dean said.  
“The amulet once belonged to Romanus, the saint about whose life Sam has become an expert.” Sam frowned and Dean chuckled until they both realized the comment had not been sarcastic. “This town is named after him, actually.”  
“We’re in Saint Romain, not Romanus.”  
“Romain was the saint’s anglicized name. Don’t ask me why, it’s something I never thought important to understand. Perhaps the English found his name too difficult to pronounce.”  
“Alright then, this Romanus guy,” Dean said, getting up to grab another beer. Sam almost commented on how quickly he’d gone through the first one before he noticed he had finished his too. “How’d he get the amulet?”  
“His mother’s father received it in Rome upon his initiation into the cult of Mithras.”  
“Mithras?” Sam asked, his attention finally fully on the angel. “The pagan god whose ceremonies were appropriated and turned into Christmas?”  
“Oh, the boy who hates Christmas is back,” Dean commented quietly, but loud enough for Sam to hear and scowl at him.  
“It’s a bit more complex than that, but the pagan Mithras, yes,” Cas answered.  
“This guy was a Saint even though his grandfather was a member of a pagan cult?” Dean asked incredulously.  
“Indeed. Romanus was an important man. His mother was barren, according to some of my brethren due to her father’s pagan beliefs, but God sent Gabriel to intervene and allow her a pregnancy.”  
Dean ran a hand over his face. “That’s total normal, Jesus…”  
Cas tilted his head and squinted slightly. “Similar, I suppose. God only decreed Felicite’s pregnancy, so Romanus was not my half-brother.”  
“Damnit Cas, you know what I meant.”  
“Not sure he did, Dean.”  
“Not helpful, Sammy.”  
Cas frowned. “Shall I continue, or would you two like to continue bickering?”  
Dean chuckled. “Alright, Sass-tiel, carry on.”  
Cas looked for a moment as if he was going to question Dean’s comment, but blinked and resumed talking. “Romanus was also a member of the cult of Mithras, and he wore that amulet when he killed the gargoyle. The brass of which it is made was soaked in the blood of the monster and took on some supernatural attributes.”  
“I still don’t get how this guy can be a pagan and a saint,” Sam said, his eyes once again on the amulet.  
“His birth was announced by an archangel and he fought demons,” Cas answered. “We are aware that other gods exist; we do not disregard benevolent actions because a person believes in something real.”  
“If you become a saint for fighting demons,” Dean commented, picking at the label on his bottle, “Sam and I should have a sainthood a hundred times over.”  
“There’s more to it than that, Dean.”  
“Yeah, okay. We can discuss my halo later,” Dean said, chuckling as he spoke in the hope that Cas would realize he was joking, “How come you want to help us kill this thing? Did you know Romanus?”  
“I was sent to intervene when a demon attempted to seduce him. After that Romanus was my charge. I need to carry on his work and stop this monster again.”  
“Hold up, you had a ‘charge’?” Dean leant forward, elbows resting on his knees. Sam rolled his eyes before focusing them on his screen.  
“I’ve served charges for millennia, Dean. I would have continued had I not become your guardian. I would have continued had you not come along and changed heaven.”  
“You’re blaming me? You chose to rebel.”  
“I am thanking you. You gave me the strength to.”  
Sam loudly cleared his throat. “Alright Mister Poker-Face and Mister No-Chick Flick-Moments, how about you leave the emotional stuff for after we’ve stopped this thing?” When neither of them responded, Sam sighed.  
“Come take a look at this,” he said to Cas and opened up the email he’d sent to Bobby, with the image of Hayes’ souvenir attached. “Reckon that’s what we’re after?”  
Cas bent over Sam’s shoulder briefly. He nodded as he straightened up. “Yes. That looks to be one of the gargoyle’s teeth. I wasn’t aware any still existed.”  
“Hayes went to check out a chamber in the cathedral, that had been hidden for years,” Dean commented as he moved to look over Sam’s other shoulder at the picture of the tooth. “Maybe he found the head in there, and decided to bring a piece of it home.”  
“What is he doing with it though?” Sam asked. “Summoning the gargoyle?”  
“I do not pretend to be an expert on dragonlore,” Cas answered, “But it’s possible that tooth would be enough to corrupt its holder.”  
Dean finished off his beer in one long gulp and sighed. “So the guy has the tooth of a French dragon thing which is somehow transforming him into a monster?”  
Sam shrugged. “We’ve seen a racist ghost truck, Dean. This isn’t that weird.”  
“I do prefer when we have to kill someone, rather than something. It’s a lot simpler.” Dean nodded to Cas. “Do you know where the tooth is now? Use your mojo to track it?”  
Cas narrowed his eyes before disappearing with a flutter of his trench coat.  
“Damnit, since when does he get offended so easily?” Dean shook his head and tossed Sam his jacket. “Guess we just get moving, maybe start with Hayes’ office. That’s where we last saw the tooth.”  
“It’s not in his office.”  
Sam took a moment to appreciate the expression on Dean’s before replying to Cas. “Thanks, man. Don’t suppose you worked out where it was?”  
“No. I believe Hayes has it with him, and for some reason I can’t track him. Perhaps he is no longer sufficiently human. I could only establish a few places where he was not.”  
“That’s a start, at least,” Sam said as he closed his laptop. “Check out his house?”  
Dean shrugged. “Might as well.”  
“I will meet you there.” Cas was gone again before either Sam or Dean could respond.  
“Not sure I’ll ever get used to that,” Sam said. He let Dean leave first, and stayed a step behind him as they walked the short distance to the car. He didn’t particularly want Dean seeing the smile on his face as he watched the thin black line around his brother’s neck. He didn’t want Dean to know how happy he was to have his brother back, properly, because then Dean would know how much it had hurt Sam to lose him in the first place.

 

“This place is a mess,” Dean groaned as they stepped into yet another room full of a jumble of random objects.  
“I’ll take this place over the home of most of the monsters we’ve had to search,” Sam replied, tossing his torch into his left hand and rummaging through a large cardboard box with the other. It was only early evening but the house was dim and they instinctively avoided turning on any of the lights.  
“It certainly smells a lot nicer,” Dean conceded. He grinned as he spotted something in the far corner. After checking to make sure Sam was preoccupied, Dean whispered to Cas, who as promised had met them on the front doorstep. The angel did his head-tilt, but eventually nodded and picked up the object. Sam turned his torchlight on it for long enough to read the tag, “To Tom from Jack, Happy Christmas” but didn’t bother finding out what it was.  
Cas however lifted the object, a black diving helmet, up and onto his head. “Sam, I am your father,” he said in a deep, rasping voice.  
Sam rolled his eyes. “That’s not funny on so many levels.” He turned to Dean. “I take it you put him up to this?”  
Dean raised open palms in a sign of innocence. “Maybe he thought of it all on his own.”  
"Yeah, because Cas has seen Star Wars."  
"Maybe while you were in Hell I was laid up for a day and couldn't sleep so I marathoned the trilogy, the good one-" Dean added quickly at the look from Sam, "and Cas watched with me."  
"Lucas is a talented story-teller,” Cas said without glancing away from the painting he surveyed, having removed the helmet. “Had he been chosen as a prophet his gospel would have been my favourite."  
To wipe away Dean's smirk, Sam put on his ponderous face. "How can Cas know Vader's line if you watched the ‘good’ movies where he was still Anakin?"  
Dean's smirk turned to a scowl. "You are dead to me."  
Sam gave one snorting chuckle. "That expression doesn't mean much for us anymore."  
There came a soft 'oh' from Cas. "It's an expression." He finally turned away from the painting, a lone church standing in a field. "I thought you were indicating a delusion that Sam is a ghost."  
Dean rolled his eyes but spoke gently when he said, "I know he's not a ghost, Cas." Dean grinned and slapped Sam's shoulder. "He's a moose."  
It was Sam's turn to roll his eyes. "Alright, Crowley. I'm gonna go check out the basement."  
"Alright, we’ll tackle upstairs and meet you outside in twenty?"  
"Yeah okay."  
"You know how I dislike you saying 'yeah okay'", Dean replied.  
Sam was already halfway down the hallway to the stairs when he answered "Yeah okay."

 

“That was a complete waste of time,” Dean announced as he and Cas stepped into the front hallway.  
“It wasn’t a complete waste,” Sam said as he emerged from the basement. “At least we can be fairly sure the tooth isn’t here.”  
“Oh yeah, that’s a great help. Just the entire rest of the town to rule out.”  
“No need for that attitude –.” Sam’s retort was cut short as the front door swung open. With a soft click the lights came on.  
“Agents, sorry.” After rapid blinking for a few seconds Dean and Sam were finally able to recognize the figure standing in the doorway, still brandishing a baseball bat.  
Eugene grimaced and lowered his weapon. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t be able to do much with this if I tried.”  
“What are you doing here, Eugene?” Sam asked as Dean quietly filled in Cas.  
“I saw lights through the windows. I thought someone might have been robbing the place.”  
“So you thought you’d take on the thieves yourself, with a baseball bat, instead of calling the cops?”  
Eugene shrugged. “Guess I didn’t really think it would actually be thieves. This is generally a good neighbourhood. What are you guys doing here? And who is he?” Eugene asked, nodding towards Cas.  
“He’s back-up,” Dean replied quickly. “We’re looking into your neighbour Hayes in connection with the murders. You wouldn’t happen to know where he is?”  
Eugene shook his head. “No, sorry. If I see him I can tell him you’re looking for him.”  
“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Sam said. “During our interview with him he expressed anger towards you.”  
Eugene’s hand tightened around his bat. “You think I’m in danger?”  
“We hope not,” Dean replied.  
“I’ll stick around and keep an eye on you while my partners continue looking for Hayes,” Sam said, smiling comfortingly.  
“You will?” Dean asked, glancing at Sam with his eyebrows raised.  
“It makes sense, Agent,” Sam answered, carefully enunciating the final word. “If we have reason to believe Hayes will target Eugene, someone should stay with him, but we also need to keep up our search.”  
“Sam speaks sense,” Cas commented, earning a glare from Dean.  
“Fine.” Dean stepped past Eugene onto the doorstep. He pointed the end of his torch at Sam. “Call me if Hayes turns up. I’ll send Agent…uh, River to assist you.”  
“You won’t come as well?” Eugene asked as he and the other two followed Dean outside.  
Dean paused as he tried to think of a feasible answer. “I will, of course, but Clarence here can get places a lot quicker than I can. He’s a demon behind the wheel,” Dean added with a grin so obvious that Sam swiped the back of his head as soon as Eugene turned away.  
“Keep in touch, Agent,” Dean said as they reached the Impala. Sam nodded and was about to continue across the street with Eugene when Dean put a hand on his shoulder, forgoing every semblance of formality. “Keep in touch, Sam. I mean it.”  
Sam deliberately met Dean’s eye and nodded. “I will.”  
Dean nodded and dropped in to the driver’s seat. Once Eugene had turned his back on the car Cas disappeared. Dean rolled his eyes again. “Yeah, alright. We’ll split up to search. Fantastic,” he muttered and started up the engine. 

 

“FBI agents are nothing like the movies make you out to be,” Eugene commented as he led Sam across the street to his house. “You’re a lot more…sincere.”  
“I suppose we aren’t exactly normal.”  
Eugene just nodded. As soon as he unlocked the front door of his house loud barking erupted behind it.  
“Heya, Rex,” Sam said happily as the dog leapt on him the second the door opened, panting and wagging his tail.  
“Down, boy.” Rex obeyed, but stuck close to Sam and Eugene as they made their way into the sitting room. The sun had just about set and it was dark enough that Eugene had to flick the light on, on top of the flames he stoked up in the fireplace.  
“I had actually just made an early dinner before I went charging foolishly into Tom’s house,” Eugene said as Sam settled on the couch and Rex immediately jumped up next to him. “It’s not exactly haute-cuisine, but would you like something to eat?”  
“Yeah, thanks,” Sam said, looking up from the dog for long enough to flash Eugene a smile of gratitude. The man smiled back and disappeared. After a few minutes of clattering he returned with two plates. Sam reluctantly nudged Rex’s front legs off his lap and dug in to the salmon and salad.  
“Is it alright?” Eugene asked. It was only when he did that Sam realized he’d been grinning.  
“I’m just imagining how Dean would turn his nose up at this.”  
“Dean?”  
“Uh, Agent Paice.”  
‘Is there something wrong with it?”  
Sam shook his head. “Absolutely nothing, it’s delicious. He just won’t eat anything that is remotely healthy.”  
Eugene chuckled, after which they fell into a discussion about Rex. An hour later they had gone through the subject of dogs, through politics and onto Stanford.  
“I studied Classical literature,” Eugene said after Sam eagerly picked up on his mention that he went to Stanford. Their discussion was cut short as the front door smashed open.  
Sam was on his feet in a second, one arm in front of Eugene and the other pulling out his pistol.  
“Get out, now. I’ll hold him off,” Sam shouted over the growling coming from the entrance hall. Eugene hesitated.  
“Go, now!” Sam shouted again, and finally Eugene darted towards the kitchen where Sam could only hope there was a back door. He pulled out his phone and hit speed dial.  
“Come on, pick up the phone,” Sam pleaded as the double doors into the sitting room disintegrated into splinters of wood. The phone fell from his hand as he took in the figure standing before him.

 

“Sam? Sammy!” Dean swore and threw the phone back into the glove box. Cas still hadn’t come back from wherever he had gone to search, so Dean pressed his foot to the floor and threw the car into a sharp handbrake turn. He was only a few minutes away from Sam, but he knew as well as anyone what could happen in a few minutes.

 

Sam unloaded an entire clip but it didn’t faze the monster. Instead he threw his gun onto the couch and pulled out his knife, the largest one he owned. Even with that he felt unfairly outmatched. Hayes was barely recognizable. His horned head almost hit the ceiling. The hands with which he tossed aside the couch were tipped in hooked claws. Every inch of skin was covered in sleek, grey scales. A long, spiked tail smashed what was left of the door frame to make room for the massive, leathery wings sprouting from the monster’s back. Its yellow, reptilian eyes fixed on Sam.  
“Come on, then.” There must have been enough of Hayes left for the monster to understand the words. Sam ran forward and slid under the table as the gargoyle leapt towards him. Before the monster could turn around Sam jumped to his feet and swung at its tail. The gargoyle howled as the blade cut deep into its flesh. Sam planted his foot on the end of the thrashing tail and with one more hack severed it.  
Pain exploded in his left shoulder as the monster hurled him across the room. Gritting his teeth and ignoring the warm blood running down his arm, Sam picked himself up and faced the monster again. When it lashed out again he ducked beneath its claws and swiped at its leg. The shock of a collision vibrated through his arm and again the monster howled.  
Sam wasn’t quick enough to avoid its counter attack. The knife was thrown from his hand as the gargoyle half-jumped, half-flew into him. It pinned him down with its uninjured back foot on his chest. Sam groaned as he stretched his arm out for the blade, which had fallen a few feet away. He could barely breathe with the pressure on his chest and already he could feel himself grow faint.  
The monster’s fangs were inches from his face and he could feel its hot breath when it let out another roar. As the roar tapered off Sam heard barking. Whatever Rex had done wasn’t enough to stop the gargoyle, but it distracted it for long enough. Over the barking came a sharp bang. The gargoyle roared again, louder than any Sam had yet heard and suddenly the pressure keeping him down was gone. He just managed to get to his feet to see Dean, fuel can in hand. Sam caught on to his plan and snatched up his knife. Dean kept the monster busy as he drenched it by taking pot shots at its head with his Colt, in the other hand.  
“Now!” Dean shouted as he threw the empty can aside. Sam leapt forward and slashed at the monster’s leg while Dean jumped off the table and kicked it in the chest.  
Dean crashing into it and two injured legs was enough for the gargoyle to stumble backwards and into the fireplace. The monster howled as it erupted into flames. It fell to its knees, clawing desperately in an effort to put itself out. Sam tossed Dean his knife, who grabbed it out of the air and with one swipe took off the gargoyle’s head.  
“Took your time getting here,” Sam panted, moving to stand next to Dean.  
“I could have left your ass to deal with it alone. How about a little gratitude?”  
“How about a little less attitude?”  
“Don’t start on attitude. Bitch.”  
“Jerk.” Sam nodded towards the still-burning corpse. “You should probably put that out.”  
“Why do I have to do it?” Dean asked, moaning exaggeratedly.  
Sam tilted his scratched shoulder toward his brother. “Hello? I’m a little injured.”  
Dean was saved the task when a gust of wind tore through the room and extinguished the flames. “I see you two have been successful.”  
“No shit, Cas,” Dean shot back. “Where the hell have you been?”  
“I told you, I couldn’t track it. I didn’t know it was here.” Cas stepped over the severed tail, already withering, and placed his hand on Sam’s shoulder. Once it was healed he turned back to Dean. After that he dug through the remains. When he straightened the tooth was clasped in his hand. He slipped it into his pocket and turned back to face them. “I am sorry, Dean. This was a monster you had to kill yourselves.”  
“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”  
“The original monster was not actually killed by Romanus. He captured it, but the beheading was carried out by the only man who had volunteered to help him. A criminal, condemned to death who had nothing left to lose.”  
Dean frowned. “So it had to be killed by a criminal again? Do we fit that bill?”  
Cas shrugged. “You have both lost everything, including each other. You were close enough to have nothing to lose.”  
“Gee, thanks Cas,” Dean replied, voice laden with sarcasm.  
“You’re welcome,” Cas replied, voice completely free of sarcasm. “Although I don’t understand why you’re expressing gratitude.”  
“I was…” Dean sighed and shook his head. “You know what, never mind.”

 

“Sorry about your house,” Sam said. They had finally found Eugene, hiding in the shed in his backyard. He now stood in his sitting room, surveying the damage.  
“It’s fine, really. You did save my life.” He laughed shortly. “Against what, I don’t quite know.” He raised a hand as Sam started to speak. “And I don’t want to know.”  
“Fair enough,” Sam said with a smile. He followed Eugene out on to the front yard where Dean was waiting for him. Cas had already disappeared.  
“Just because it’s going to bug me,” Dean said, “What did Hayes have against you and your neighbours?”  
Eugene hung his head and leant against the shattered door frame. “There was a vote recently. About the allocation of council funding. Jack, Dave and I were among several people who voted to spend money on fixing up the school, rather than funding a new exhibit for the museum. Hayes took it pretty personally, apparently.”  
“That doesn’t explain why he went for you guys, though,” Sam said, looking up from where he was crouched to pat Rex. He’d been relieved to see the dog emerge from the same shed as Eugene.  
Eugene shrugged. “I guess he’d planned to start with us. I know Dave’s lawn upset him. And Jack would sometimes park his boat in the street. That would really set Tom off. No idea what he had against me, though.”  
From somewhere inside the house came a faint crashing as something broken fell completely apart. Rex responded with a loud bark.  
“Yeah, no idea.” Dean’s comment earned him a none-too gentle shoulder nudge from Sam.  
“You’re safe now,” Sam said, ignoring Dean’s hurt expression. “That’s the main thing. Are you sure you’re alright to clean up?”  
Eugene smiled and nodded. “Doesn’t seem fair making you do it. Hopefully I’ll have a decent excuse by morning.”  
“Do you get bears in Massachusetts?” Dean asked. “Really, really big ones…” He tapered off as he realized how his suggestion sounded. He cleared his throat loudly and clapped Sam on the back. “We should be off, Agent.”  
Eugene chuckled. “No need for that. I don’t know who you are, and I don’t want to know, but one thing I know is that you aren’t agents.” He straightened up and stepped forward to shake their hands. “I also know that I owe you more than I can ever repay. If you happen to be in town again, you’re more than welcome to stop by. I’ll be sure to have something alcoholic next time,” he said with a laugh.  
Dean started to rule out the possibility, until he saw Sam’s face. “Yeah, we’ll see.” Sam’s smile turned to a look of surprise.  
“Really?” he asked as the two of them set off down the path. “You’d be open to coming back?”  
Dean sighed and nudged Sam, amiably. “It’s good for you to have friends. Besides, the more often you get to play with that dog the less likely you’ll be to ask for one of your own.”  
“Can we get a dog, Dean?”  
“No. No we cannot.” Dean rolled his eyes at Sam’s wide eyes and slight pout. “Who needs one when you do such a good puppy-dog? Just look in a mirror.”  
“Oh haha.” Sam settled into the passenger seat with a long sigh. “I am tired.”  
“Harden up. Cas healed you.”  
“I still fought a dragon, Dean.”  
“Yeah but we killed it together.”  
Sam exhaled sharply and rolled his head so that he could see Dean. “Did you actually just willing share the credit for something?”  
“I am not that bad,” Dean muttered and started the car. “Shut up.”  
“Can we get a dog, Dean?” Sam asked again, just to try to annoy his brother in retaliation.  
“The day heaven and hell leave us in peace. Then you can have a dog.”  
Sam shifted in the seat to make himself more comfortable. His eyes were closed before he spoke and his words slurred as he started to doze off. “You’re gonna regret saying that.”  
Dean smiled as his brother started snoring. “I really hope so.”

 

Sam woke up as Dean tried to tug him out of the car. “I’m not a kid, Dean. You can’t carry me anymore.” Sam ran a hand through his hair and peered through the windscreen. “We’re back at the motel?”  
“You need to sleep in a proper bed tonight,” Dean answered. “Come on, out of the car.”  
Once they were in the room and had locked the door they both sank onto their beds. Dean slipped his gun and the demon knife under his pillow before laying his head on top of it. He settled onto his side, one arm wrapped around a second pillow, so that he could see both the door and his brother. He’d taken off his boots, jacket and jeans but the amulet still hung around his neck.  
“Night Sam.”  
“Night Dean.”  
Despite his own exhaustion, Sam was still awake when Dean began to snore. As quietly as he could, he got out of bed and slipped out of the room. He took a deep breath of the cold night air.  
“Cas, man. I need a favour.”  
Sam smiled as he heard the familiar rustle. “You heard. You came.”  
“I might not always answer, but I always listen.” Cas fixed Sam in a stare. “I am sorry I do not heed your prayers more often. Do not mistake my absence for apathy.”  
Sam glanced away, but soon met the angel’s gaze again. He started to speak but Cas pre-empted his question.  
“You would like me to watch out for your new friend?”  
Sam just nodded.  
“I will, as best I can. I am sure you understand that I cannot wholly devote myself to his protection.”  
“I know. Whatever you can do, I’d appreciate.”  
Cas nodded and turned his back on Sam. Instead of disappearing he turned around again. “Dean was right. You do deserve to have friends. I often regret that you and Dean are so deprived of affection. You have each other, and I do not wish to disparage your bond, but you both need more than each other. You both deserve more.”  
Sam exhaled sharply. “Yeah, sure.” Before he could say anything more the strangest thing occurred; Cas stepped forward and hugged him. It was awkward and brief, but flooded him with warmth.  
“What was that for?” Sam asked when Cas pulled away. The angel shrugged.  
“Is that not what humans do to comfort each other?”  
“Yeah, but you aren’t a human.”  
Cas tilted his head. “You are though. I just thought it might make you feel better.”  
Sam smiled. “It did, thanks.”  
Cas’ eyes narrowed. “I sense you are not being sincere. Do you not believe my sentiment?”  
Sam glanced down again and this time couldn’t meet Cas’ eye again. “Not so much.”  
Cas stepped forward again, but this time just rested a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You are not a bad person, Sam Winchester. I can see your soul, and it is pure. Not clean, no one’s is, but it is whole, and good.”  
“Says the angel to the boy with the demon blood.”  
Cas’ hand fell from his shoulder. “Humans were made to be fallible. You have made mistakes, but you continue to fight to make up for them. You’re the man who stopped the Apocalypse. And you deserve to have a pet dog.”  
Sam laughed and finally looked up. “Thanks, Cas,” he whispered to the empty, silent night.  
Sam crept back in to the room as quietly as he could, so caught up in his attempt to be stealthy that he didn’t notice Dean’s gentler, more even breathing which meant he was only pretending to snore. Sam settled into bed on his side so that he too could see his brother. He had his back to the door, the darkness beyond it and everything that darkness contained, his eyes fixed on the slight gold gleam on the sheet next to his brother’s hand. He drifted off to sleep happier than he had been in a long time.


End file.
